The Crimson Sun Rising Behind Eden
by godsminions777
Summary: Expecting to come back to Hogwarts for a peaceful, somewhat normal seventh year, the Trio finds danger is once again afoot in Hogwarts. What does the newly appointed Headmaster Snape have to do with it? And Draco, too? WARNINGS FOR DARK THEMES/ADULT STUFF
1. AN EBBING SUN

**Title:** The Crimson Sun Rising Behind Eden  
**Authors:** Monica and Callie godsminions777  
**Beta:** Louisianawhore69  
**A/N**: AU seventh-year ... with new and _exciting_ twists.

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Jezabel sighed and looked at her watch. It was eight and Rasheid _still_ wasn't in the train compartment that she had saved. One of these days she was going to kill her twin brother for always being late. She sighed again, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

Long blonde hair flowed to her waist in waterfalls of blondeness, her casual haughty sneer in place, and she found she looked as beautiful as always. From birth she had been told she was beautiful and she always knew it from birth too. She wondered if she had been this pretty in her mother's womb, but discarded the thought as the compartment door opened and she was distracted from looking at herself.

"Are you the new transfer student? From Beauxbatons?"

Jezabel Love Valerie Amore could smell Mudblood from awhile away, and this intruder of her personal space definitely smelled of dirt. With a look of contempt, she began to assess each and every reason why this was not a person she wanted to socialize with. Bushy brown hair that looked like a rat's nest of curls sat on top of a plain, round face. The only redeeming quality of the girl was that she carried an armload of books.

Jezebel loved books. She had been taught to read when she was four years old and had never stopped reading since. It was the reason she had been given entrance into Hogwarts AN: Not to READ, silly! after the unfortunate _incident_ at Beauxbatons. And her academic brilliance in Potions had helped too. The Headmaster was a former Potions Master and he had invited her to study under him.

It sounded naughty.

"I'm Hermione," said the newcomer, walking into her compartment uninvited. "And…" she waited for Jezebel to say her name but when she wasn't forthcoming the eager look on her plain face dropped.

"I'm Jezebel," she finally said, eyeing the girl up and down with purple-jade eyes. "You're Hermione Granger, aren't you? One of those trio people."

The girl frowned quizzically at her. Really, did she need to answer every plebeian's questions?

"You're in the newspaper a lot. Haven't you ever read one? Or are you one of those… poor people?" AN: Because poor people can't buy newspapers, duh!

"I read the newspaper everyday!" sniffed Hermione Granger and flounced out.

Jezebel smiled smugly as the door slammed shut behind the girl. Sometimes she had to be mean to get people out of her way. She hated socializing when she was nervous and she was especially nervous now. Her and her twin, Rasheid, were going to be in Hogwarts! She could hardly contain her excitement. They had been going to Beauxbatons since they were eleven and before that had been taught by their mother to control their veela tendencies. It wouldn't do to throw a ball of fire at the breakfast table, her mother had told them. Jezabel thought Rasheid wouldn't mind at all some days; he was just so irritable over everything! And so overprotective! He would rather tie her up in chains in the basement before letting her out on a date. It was all rather annoying in her opinion. She didn't need her brother looking out for her when she could protect herself. Jezabel knew he was just jealous because _all_ the attention was on her.

It served him right, being such a git.

Jezebel stood, her tight black leather pants clinging to every part of her legs as she reached into the overhead compartment to get her trunk down. She'd like to look through a few magazines while waiting for the train to get to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

She didn't notice the slack-jawed redhead standing outside the compartment door, getting a very good view of her leather clad backside and heart tattoo on the lower half of her back that was showing due to her shirt (AN: A black corset from Hot Topic! She's rich enough to have it sent in the post from America! riding up.)

She turned around with a few _Vogues_ in her hands, her smile widening when she saw two cute boys at the door. She waved excitedly. "Hey! Come on in!"

She also recognized them from the paper. The other 2/3rds of the trio. She thought that without that plain girl, the two handsome boys would be perfect together. They might have killed Voldemort faster without a pretentious dork like Hermione Granger.

"Wow! Two celebrities in my compartment," she said, her rich French accent thickening her words. "How exciting! You must join me."

Unfortunately, at that very moment, Rasheid stomped into the compartment, his violet eyes blazing.

"No, away with you!" he snapped at the two boys. "_Please_."

Her brother always amused and irritated her with his bi-polar moodiness. One moment he snapped and the next moment he felt guilty and backpedaled. The twat.

"Took you long enough," Jezabel huffed, using the moment her brother looked down to wink at the two boys' before they turned away.

She'd definitely catch up with them _later_.

Rasheid looked up at her, his expression pleading. "You know how I feel about … isolating yourself with the _impure_."

Jezabel used her wide eyed innocent look and bit her lip; Rasheid was so easy to manipulate. "I was only going to introduce myself, Ra. I was waiting for _you_."

Her mind did a happy jig as she watched his tense expression soften.

Too easy, he was.

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A puddle of drool rubbed wetly across his cheek as he lifted his head from the makeshift pillow.

"Eughh," Ron groaned, wiping the cold moistness from his skin. "Are we there yet?"

"No, Ronald – it's only been a half hour since our departure." Bushy brown tendrils trembled as the girl shook her head at him.

Ron hated when she patronized him, and let himself imagine – just for one moment – taking a pair of gardening shears to her bush of hair.

"What are you smiling about?" Hermione snapped.

"Er." Ron used the back of his hand to scrub at his nose. "That new girl. You see her?"

Such an alarming shade of red should not be seen on a person's skin, especially one with a complexion as fair as Hermione's.

Ron couldn't be sure, but the odd sound that escaped his mate's mouth didn't sound appropriate for children.

"Her brother didn't seem to like us," Harry muttered, and Ron was grateful at an excuse to talk to someone other than the human steam pot.

"Weird eyes on that bloke," Ron answered, nodding vigorously.

Harry shrugged.

"Where do you think they came from, anyway?" Ron continued, desperate for Harry to resume talking; Hermione was still in the process of converting her DNA into that of a tomato.

Harry shrugged again.

God, his friend wasn't going to be _any_ help _at all_.

"Do you think that they like Quidditch?" Ron shrieked, the last word distorted by his voice cracking as he flailed his arms and lifted his eyebrows at Harry in rapid succession.

"Er," Harry answered, his own eyes going wide. "Sure, Ron."

"YES I DID SEE HER," Hermione exploded, and Ron swore he saw a bit of smoke expel from her nostrils. "She's not anything to go on about, either!"

Ron cringed, but couldn't stop himself from muttering, "I think she's rather pretty…"

At the venomous look from his on and off again girlfriend he squealed, "Right, Harry?"

"Er," Harry muttered, shrugging.

It was going to be a long trip to Hogwarts.

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* * *

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	2. THE HORROR OF SNAPE

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The sorting hat sat watching the students filter in with its creases for eyes. Although it had no mind, it did possess a magical intelligence, and it ruminated over a decision it'd made long ago.

Albus Dumbledore had been murdered… a man the hat had served for many a decade, and the hat felt quite certain – were he to speak to Dumbledore – that Dumbledore would agree with the hat on what must be done.

"Amore, Jezabel," McGonagall called, her voice weary and wane like never before.

The hat watched the peculiar girl flounce towards him, her shimmering hair reflecting every pinprick of light. With the grace of a wizened unicorn she picked the hat up to sit down, before placing it on her head.

"New here, are you?" the hat whispered into her ear. "And such abilities you possess, such power… and you strive for power, don't you?"

He heard a nervous giggle followed by almost being upset as she jerkily nodded.

"Well, as a wise man once told me… it is not what we are but what we wish to be that matters…" the hat murmured, hoping – as much as a hat could – that he was making the right decision. "_Gryffindor_!"

The girl flinched out from under the hat and stood for a moment, seeming to regale in the eruption of applause that filled the Great Hall.

Truly, he'd told her a bunch of malarkey… only wanting her to believe what would be best for everyone in the end.

"…Rasheid." The hat switched its attention to McGonagall's name calling and watched as another peculiar student approached.

Oh lordy, not another one, thought the hat.

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The willowy blond boy sat staring forlornly at the black haired witch. She was busy talking to _Blaise_ of all people. Like that stupid nigger was more interesting or intelligent than him! (A/N: OMG RUDE! My cousin's friend's sister's dog's girlfriend is black!)

"Hey Pansy, your knickers are showing," Draco called, even though they so weren't.

He wished they were though.

"What?" Pansy squealed, craning her neck away from Blaise to view her skirt. "Shut up, Draco…"

She was rolling her eyes at him. Stupid cow.

Draco ignored the hot flash of anger at watching Pansy turn back to smile coyly at Blaise. He didn't need her. He was a MALFOY, and Malfoy's could have anyone they wanted.

His eyes slowly drifted to the new Gryffindor girl: Miss Amore.

Her beautiful flowing blonde hair called to him. It must be soft… like his mother's silky tresses were. He wondered if her eyes were grey like his mother's. He felt a strange sensation in his trousers as his eyes took in her perfect figure. God, she had curves in _all_ the right places.

His mother would like this girl, he knew – even if she didn't like any of the others that came around. _This_ girl was perfect. And her blood status screamed to him as he watched her gracefully fork eggs into her mouth.

_Pureblood._

Suddenly, Draco felt the strange sensation of being watched, like two hot cigarette burns to the side of his face.

He turned his gaze away from the beautiful pureblooded queen and found himself staring into a void of violet.

Draco was no faggot, but looking into Rasheid Van Hol Amore's eyes made a strange tingly sensation bloom inside his gut.

Such exquisite violet eyes! He had never seen eyes so beautiful. Exotic, enthralling, endearing and a million other words beginning with E.

"You're staring at my sister," the boy with the beautiful eyes said coldly.

If ice could form on words it surely would have crystallized in the air and driven its spiky point through Draco's skull.

"Your sister?" Draco said, pretending to be oblivious.

"Yes, _my_ sister. Don't get any funny ideas about her… She is to remain pure until marriage, as per family tradition."

Draco watched in horror as the violet-eyed boy took out a small black book, shiny golden letters, _The Holy Bible_, on the front.

The boy's icy voice began in a thunderous boom, "Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God."

"Er," Draco muttered, his eyes going wide as the boy lifted those chilling violet orbs to his.

"Aren't you a follower of the good Lord?" The Amore boy thumped his bible twice with his long, slender fingers.

"The Malfoy's are agnostic," Draco drawled haughtily.

Who was this person to think he could talk to a MALFOY in such a condescending manner?!

"I see." Amore's nose wrinkled as if he smelled something unpleasant, and he carefully tucked his bible back inside his robes.

Draco grinned slyly, casting his eyes to the side as he asked in mock innocence, "What is your sister's name?"

"Jezabel, and I'm Rasheid." Rasheid's tone remained neutral, and Draco frowned for failing to rile the boy.

Perhaps _boy_ was the wrong word. Although Amore had soft facial features, prominent cheekbones, and feminine lips… he wasn't scrawny or childlike. His robes may have been loose-fitting and modest, but Draco could tell that Rasheid was ripped like no other; akin to the sweaty, bloodthirsty wrestlers Draco had seen on a poster in Muggle London.

He smiled vindictively at the thought. Rasheid… his pureblooded status paralleled with the likes of a vile Muggle sport.

"We transferred from Beauxbatons," Amore said, a hint of force to his tone.

"Weren't good enough for the French?" Draco asked, smirking.

It didn't matter if he insulted himself as long as he got a good jab at this _Rash-ey_ bloke.

"An instructor came onto my sister," Rasheid said pointedly, and Draco knew just the reason for his bringing up Beauxbatons at all. "I was forced to defend her honour."

"Read bible drivel until he died of boredom?" Draco asked, gesturing with his hand towards the book's hiding place.

"Let's just say that he won't ever be able to commit the sin of fornication," Rasheid growled, his sharp white teeth glittering.

Draco shuddered and looked away. This guy was weird and creepy and totally cockblocking him. Arsehole.

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Rasheid ate quietly and contemplated the blonde sinner who sat before him. He felt confident that his words had resonated within the boy… especially if that sulky pout was anything to go by.

_No one_ touched his sister. He understood their desire, certainly, as Amore's were bred more finely than any other… even the ever popular Malfoy… and his sister was akin to Venus; the first star shining bright against a black void, fiery white and enthralling to gaze upon … She stood out from even the fittest women, making the plain hide their faces and the ugly shaky with fear.

His heart ached as he stared across the room at his twin sister. They had always been inseparable, even in the womb, and at his former school he had always been at her side. They'd eaten meals with one another, played Quidditch together, and even shared a bed from time to time. (A/N: Not like that! He just really, really, _reallyyy_ loves her mmkay? He's a Christian!!)

Now, everything would be different. Hogwarts was worlds away from the elite French institution – boys and girls were separated in dorms and separated by House, even for something as absurd as mealtime.

He frowned as he thought of Jezabel so very far away from him... permanently, at least for the year.

Would she be cold tonight? Would she be _safe_?

He wouldn't even be able to get to her if he needed to.

Suddenly he felt heat pricking his eyes. He shook his head quickly… it had to be a reaction to the Scottish air; France h2o was much purer and cleaner.

Maybe he needed to read a few more passages in the trusty good book. Spreading the word was important, even if others never understood. They were just intellectually challenged- corrupted by sin and teenage hormones.

Rasheid was above that, having a brain fashioned by the purest of blood – like inbred Dobermans. Although there was that one Mexican grandfather ... Jesus or something. He'd been a really great carpenter.

A boy like Draco would probably count that against him. The racist little prat. Rasheid couldn't stand narrow minded people. They never felt the light of God, the caress of an angel, or the whisper of heavenly truth…

Sad, really.

A beautiful tinkling sound filled the air and Rasheid glanced up to gaze upon his laughing sister. She was talking to a strange green eyed boy with a scar. Truthfully he knew the boy's name, but with the way Jezabel was flipping her hair over her shoulder and casting those purple-jade eyes at the git, he would soon only be known as The-Boy-Who-Was-Struck-Down-By-The-Righteous-Hand-Of-Rasheid.

He had sworn to God that he would protect his fragile, angel faced sister. She _needed_ him too, most importantly, as she didn't realise the effects she had on the primeval brained hooligans of the male species.

With a small sound of despair, Rasheid took out his bible and began reading over the passages of sinners being struck down by God's mighty hand.

A booming voice echoed in his head, "Go to her tonight. Make sure she maintains her purity."

"I will find a way," he whispered to himself, burying his fingers into his long and silky, raven-coloured tresses.

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Draco was up to no good. Peering surreptitiously around the dark corner of the corridor, he slunk mischievously towards the Gryffindor common room.

That git Rasheid had bombarded him with more absurd religious literature, even going so far as to cage Draco in the corner of the common room to prevent him from making a hasty retreat.

And then, much to Draco's complete shock and horror – Pansy had dared to make moon eyes at the _Rashy_ bloke AND HE HAD SMILED AT HER.

Good lord, and not literally, as Draco couldn't care less about some crazy figment of a loon's imagination A/N: If you couldn't tell, Draco is just like he was in all the canon books -- racist and narrow minded!! He needs a good dose of the good word, huh?…

But it all summed up to one thing:

Rasheid's sister was hurtin' for a squirtin'. _His_ squirtin' more specifically.

Draco was determined to get that Amore asshat back and fuck his sister six ways to Sunday. Maybe seven, if he didn't chafe.

Of course there was always the chance that she might be as fanatic as her lame-o brother, but Draco doubted it. He'd watched her when Rasheid was busy reading and whispering oddly to himself. Something about sinners and God's hand crushing scarface or something.

Whatever that meant.

But Jezabel hadn't been reading any silly book or keeping her head bowed like a Saint. It didn't matter that he'd mostly paid attention to her firm lady lumps, peaked nipples evident even from the far off distance. Her demeanor was obvious… the way she shook that sinfully blonde hair, the way she laughed – her smile open and bright and _alluring_ …

"Hurtin' for a squirtin'," Draco whispered to himself, pressing the heel of his palm into his swelling groin.

"What are you doing out of bed, Mr. Malfoy?" a familiar, and cold voice asked.

Draco stood erect and stared at the Headmaster with a look of haughty disgust.

"Trying to get laid, sir." He knew Severus well enough to be honest with him.

Knew him _too _well, really.

"What a coincidence," Snape drawled. "As am I. If you'll assist me…?"

Draco frowned, a little noise of exasperation escaping his throat.

"Must I? Last time you called me Lily and got all… emotional. Not to mention I think you tore something inside of me…" He hadn't been able to make dukey for at least a week after _that_ incident. "Worse than a rampaging troll," he muttered softly.

"You misheard me," Snape snapped. "And I only teared up because your elbow connected with my nose… If you are in pain you should learn to express it in _words_; really Malfoy, we evolved from apes long ago."

Draco shook his head, sighing. "If I blow you will you let me go? I have a prior obligation to fill."

"With whom?" Snape asked. "And yes."

"That new girl, Jezabel Amore." Draco let Snape steer him into an empty classroom before dropping to his knees.

"Ah, the transfer student."

With clumsy hands Draco tugged at Snape's robes, earning himself an angry hiss as a button clattered to the floor.

"Well if you'd help me!" Draco snapped, picking up the button to drop into Snape's pocket. The git could repair the minor injury to his robes later, Draco had a job to do… and he wanted to get it over quickly.

"Doesn't she remind you of anyone?" Snape asked suddenly, a hint of vindictiveness in his tone.

"No." Draco waited as Snape's large hands pulled open a gap in his robes, exposing a disappointingly flaccid piece of flesh.

This could very well take all night.

"Exotically beautiful… pureblood… blonde. Perhaps with maternal tendencies…" Snape whispered, grasping himself and beginning to pull.

Draco stiffened, unable to be grateful for the help with the procession of foreplay as he registered Snape's words

"My jaw feels a bit wonky… It aches like it might snap shut at inopportune moments. Do you wish to continue?"

Snape snorted, his free hand coming to tangle in Draco's shiny dove-coloured hair. "I wager ten galleons that I'll have her before you do."

Draco choked as his face collided with Snape's dark mass of curly black pubes, and it wasn't only the sour smell of unwashed male that made his gag reflect kick in.

"Because that's all you can afford to lose," Draco muttered, using his hand to force Snape's hips back.

"Are we going to bicker all night, or are you going to blow me?"

Snape's ugly red erection had finally formed, a glistening teardrop oozing from his piss slit. He always tasted slightly dirty, as if the Muggle in his veins permeated into other fluids -- ones not confined to blood.

Draco made a face as he opened his mouth and sucked Snape inside.

(A/N: Draco isn't a faggot like mentioned earlier because Snape isn't human. shudder So don't get confused over icky dicky molesting poor young Malfoy. I'm so glad Snape got bitten by that beautiful snake – it was really fitting… Hell/the devil symbolism claiming the sinner.)

As he tried not to pay attention to Snape's little grunty noises, which reminded him of baby piglets fighting over a fat sow's teat, he ruminated over Snape's expressed desire for Miss Amore.

It didn't surprise him, truly – Snape had always been fond of things finer than himself. Purer. And if they weren't willing to give him what he wanted he would take it. Draco used to feel sorry for himself at being the object subjected to Snape's tool, but now he was only faintly resentful.

Snape _had_ done an awful lot for him, and his family, after all.

Plus, not everyone could be as beautiful as Draco found himself to be. Some people did not have the advantage of being rich, alluring, and pureblooded.

No, poor Snape had to take what he'd never been privy to. And Snape rhymed with rape ... that alone said volumes.

More sharp squeals and a few shaky thrusts later, Draco squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on not choking. This part was always the worst, as Draco hated the thought of contaminated fluids being imbibed by his person.

"_Swallow_ it, Malfoy," Snape hissed, breaking off a moment from emitting animal noises.

Draco let his mind fill with thoughts of what Jezabel might taste like, and relaxed the muscles of his throat, before he gulped. Definitely not so quinine, but instead of sweetness… And what would _she_ sound like? Not brutish like Snape, oh no. She'd sigh like a child being kissed by angels, and moan like the wind caressing the sea.

Purple butterflies swirled like a colourful tornado inside his chest, and he felt a bit dizzy, like he'd stood up too fast.

"Stop daydreaming," Snape snapped, thwacking Draco in the skull with a row of bony knuckles.

"Very rude of you when I've just got you off," Draco said, pushing Snape away from him.

Funny how ugly people were often without manners.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, although his mother always scolded him for it, Draco stood up and waited for Snape's terse nod.

His heart lifted at the dismissal as the last time Snape had demanded that he stay and coddle. For bashing him in the nose, Snape had claimed, and he'd smacked Draco for calling it coddling.

Git.

"The password for their common room is 'L-O-L cat'," Snape said quietly as Draco moved towards the door.

He froze and turned to stare at the greasy haired man with wide eyes.

"Apparently a phenomenon found on some sort of Muggle machine…" Snape said slowly, shrugging. "McGonagall is rather partial to all things feline. Leave your tie, lest you blow the charade."

"I've blown enough things tonight," Draco called as he exited.

Though he was reconsidering his previous thoughts of Snape's 'gitness'. How convenient to have a quick way into the common room… that fat lady could be a real stinky cunt.

"One step, two step, three step, four," Draco chanted as he made his way to the Gryffindor tower. "Pump a chump and nail her to the door."

Merlin he was clever! And he giggled sadistically to himself as he pulled off his Slytherin tie, leaving it on the cobbled stone to retrieve it later.

The grotesque obese lady glared down at him with watery yellow eyes. "Why are you out at such an hour? And where is your tie?"

She rubbed her double chin with a plump goose-coloured hand, and Draco tried not to notice how everything jiggled with the movement.

Fat people were so gross and annoying – he didn't understand why wizards hadn't evolved enough to shoot them on sight.

No pureblooded woman had over 15 body fat. Muggles were the cause of such a sickness, and their leaked blood into the wizarding system was going to take them all down via heart disease and high blood pressure.

"L-O-L cat," Draco said with a sneer. "It's none of your bleedin' business what I'm up to, either."

The southern looking witch scowled at him sixty-nine times, waving a chubby finger from side to side. "Someone needs a good night's rest, Mr. Grumpypants."

God, was this lady retarded too? Ugly and stupid seemed to bleed together. She probably moaned like an orgasming cow when she ate fish and chips. (A/N: Isn't that so gross when people make noises when they eat? EWW. But really, I'm not close minded like Draco! Fatties are God's children too.)

Before he could answer her silly rambling, the portrait hole opened. He began to climb inside, his mind resuming his ever so clever rhymes – when something caught his eye. Glancing up quickly, Draco stopped and _gasped_.

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(A/N: OH WOW, WHAT DID HE SEE? Leave reviews if you love Jesus!)


	3. A LOVE PURER THAN FIRE

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Jezebel turned as she heard the fat lady's portrait opening. She gasped when she saw who was at the door. He was beautiful, something out of a book or painting or one of those Muggle music videos that would start Rasheid thundering his ''fire and brimstone' rants. Shimmering dove-blond hair fell over his face, and his pointed chin was aristocratic and proud.

If Jezebel could love someone as much as she loved herself, it would be this boy.

"Who are you?" she asked hesitatingly. She hadn't seen him at the Gryffindor table and he didn't have a House tie on. He couldn't be a Gryffindor anyway. He was too beautiful and, so far, none of the boys in her House had attracted her as much as this one.

"I'm Draco," he said. His voice was like liquid sex, and Jezebel knew this, as her own was the same. (AN: But female, ya'll. She doesn't have a manly voice.) "And you're Jezebel."

She could have swooned. _He knew her name!_

Jezebel put a hand on the couch to steady her and watched Draco, the Adonis, walk toward her. He practically _sparkled_. The air around him seemed to compress, sucking the breath right out of her lungs and into the emptying void of space around her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, with such a handsome specimen so close. It was every forbidden fantasy come to life, every wet dream and naughty hallucination walking towards her.

Desperately, she hoped he was a Pureblood. She would be oh so disappointed if he turned out to be a Mudblood or half-blood. Right now, she wanted to owl her mother and tell her she had met her future husband. To hell with an engagement. They would elope as soon as possible!! Love at first sight had never seemed so real, her experience with boys no match for this… this _man_ in front of her.

She felt her heart flutter like it was made of tiny butterfly wings when he came to stand before her. He was so lovely, the planes of his face smooth and the gaze in his eyes as fierce as an eagle. She knew he could probably cut someone down with just a glance from those liquid silver orbs. She wouldn't have been surprised if he told her he modeled during the summer.

She hoped it was for one of the naughty magazines, the type that Rasheid railed about and condemned. To her brother's consternation, she would be the first in queue to buy a nude magazine with _Draco_ in it.

"Hi," she said, her voice coming out breathless as she gazed upon the Greek god standing before her. He had to be Eros with the way he made her hands shake as if she was one hundred and inflicted with palsy.

"What are you doing up so late, little girl?" Draco asked smoothly, eyeing her as if she was a steak. If that were the case, she wanted to be savored only by him.

She blinked, unable to comprehend the question fully. Her gaze whipped around the common room. _What _had _she been doing out here so late?_

_Oh yeah…_

"I was Owling my mother," she answered when her eyesight went to the pen and paper on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then, she frowned and turned to frown at the boy, her attraction forgotten.

"What are _you_ doing up so late?" she demanded.

"As you probably already know, _Jezebel_," he said, purring her name. Her knees almost gave out from the pure lust that he put into her name. She had never known a man as full of mystery as this one; someone who could make her knees weak and her heart beat faster. She barely heard his words, the "important" and "do something important for the Headmaster" and the "highly influential" passing her by as does a dazzling flutterby as she stared at his moving lips.

"Oh," she breathed when he finally stopped speaking. He was obviously an important person in some way to Hogwarts. The knowledge that someone of such power had come here for _her_--she could tell he was no Gryffindor--was an orchestra to the ears.

"You have something…" she said coyly, and reached out to swipe the drop of liquid on his pouty lower lip. She held his gaze, the moment so profound it stopped time. The drop of liquid--cold on her fingertip--stuck to her and she brought it to her lips as he held his breath. His eyes, those silver, steamy orbs, watched with barely contained heat as her tongue came out to taste what she had found. She closed her eyes knowing his were glued to her, and pretended to savor the liquid. It had a weird, spoiled taste--like bad milk, one that she would usually cringe and gag at, but she ignored it for the knowledge of the power she held in the blond's eyes.

Turning her gaze to the floor demurely, she looked through her eyelashes at him. She knew she looked the picture of virgin saints, and licked her lips at how dirty the thoughts running through her head were.

"Do you…" Jezebel started and Draco held his breath. "want to see my dormitory?"

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She led him by the hand, and though his was sweaty because of how affected he was by her sultry, wild aura, she didn't let go. She might have wanted to wipe the dampness off on her designer jeans, but resisted the urge and held the disgust in tightly.

She was determined to have the wizard, sweat or no— as her mission was now: Fuck, Draco Malfoy!

(AN: Poor Jez… waiting until marriage is important. She's just confused, DON'T WORRY. I recommend reading the Twilight series for a good dose of good morals—even though Meyers is a Mormon and not a Christian…)

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"Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood, and do such bitter business as the day would quake to look on," Rasheid recited, using both of his hands to push against Slytherin's common room door.

He knew he wasn't the only one out committing evil; Draco Malfoy's bed … _empty_.

Rasheid had been careful to pull back the curtains slowly, peering inside the canopy with one blazing, violet orb, and then inspecting the glossy, green sheets that were without dent of the resting. His face had quickly turned almost the same colour of said brilliant eye as he'd confirmed his suspicions.

That pureblooded monstrosity would need to rethink agnosticism if he were anywhere _near_ Jezebel once Rasheid got hold of him.

Crimson red obscured his vision in splotchy halos, stretching and expanding until his breath came short, and his whole body shook.

Rasheid huffed, letting the stone door glide shut behind him, and tried to slow his heartbeat.

"_He who angers you, conquers you."_

The red ebbed into a vision of his mother, the words echoing inside his skull like metal hitting glass. Jezebel would probably laugh if he were to tell her he often thought of their mother's rebukes when angry, as those rebukes were almost never spoken to _him— _no, more often than not it was Jezebel's outrages that caused the lectures. But they resonated inside Rasheid all the same.

"Breathe," he murmured, and then slowly sucked in, holding the air a second, and then exhaling. "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath…."

Perhaps he'd be wrong after all, as Draco might have some sort of duties for which he was unaware. He tried to hold onto that hope, a pinprick of flickering light which dimmed inside him as if it were a dam against a great gush of nauseating panic. There was no time for mindless terror, not when he had no clue as to where he was going.

Rasheid walked quickly and stealthily down the corridor, his feet light on the flagstones.

"_Stop—"_ a deep voice snarled, and Rasheid Van Hol Amore all but froze, his left hand automatically diving for the wand he kept snuggled against his Bible.

He spun in place quickly, like a horse cutting cattle, thrusting his silken wood from its confines and pointing it straight at whomever had spoken.

Only shadows greeted him.

"Show yourself, _please_," Rasheid demanded softly, trying to ignore the way his wand seemed to throb against his palm, heat radiating in waves through him.

Anxiety always relocated ones pulse point to the oddest of places.

"_Ungfh_," the same voice groaned, and a strange rickety sound filtered into the hallway.

Rasheid paused for a moment more, trying to discern just where the noise derived from, before shaking himself and straightening. He didn't have time for these shenanigans! He _must_ check on his angel faced sister before a certain albino devil preyed on her purity…

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Hermione Granger lay rigid in her bed, sweat beading around her hairline and temples pounding. Through a small gap in the red hangings of her four poster bed she watched fluorescent bodies intertwine, weaving and writhing like pale snakes against blood tinged clouds.

"Hurry up," pleaded Malfoy, words laden with desperation.

Hermione's knees quivered, the hand cupping her moistness tightening as though trying to shield.

"But you look so sexy pinned against my sheets," that ugly, whorish _creature_ replied teasingly.

Hermione made a face, wishing that one of the other girl's had snuck in Draco for the show. She didn't really like any of them either, but watching that Amore _beast_ have him made something inside her shrivel and die. Not that anyone was holding a gun to her head and whispering "Observe closely or I'll kill you", but that hardly mattered.

Her eyes remained glued to the scene.

"Please," Draco breathed. "I've wanted you for so long…"

Quite the liar, Hermione thought, but her fingers instinctively pushed inside her creamy wet orifice and she stifled a groan, imagining that those words were being whispered against _her_ skin— not the banshee from France.

"Oh!" Hermione yelped as her muscles convulsed around slender digits, horror spiking through her at being heard as a loud BANG!! echoed through the room.

She sat bolt upright in a dizzying rush, the exclamation of denial on her lips drowned out by a thundering boom.

"_Get off my sister_!"

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Red.

Red— it all was red.

Rasheid pointed his wand, mind a flurry of erubescent light, as fury flared with the force of a thousand fiery suns.

"No, Ra!" Jezebel shrieked.

The sight of his beloved sister cowering before him made each sun feel as if it had been plunged into an icy ocean of guilt. Everything tightened, from his throat to his abdomen, and his arm wavered, wand drooping within his fingers.

"What are you doing?" he moaned, pain flooding the places fury had been— a sea of razorblades shredding every organ within him.

She wasn't underneath that devil, she was _above_ him.

His eyes caught first on her gleaming collarbone, the softness of skin pushed out by hardness of bone, and then down to her bare breasts, rosebud nipples hardened and glistening.

A sickening heat expanded within his gut.

"It's not what you think!" Jezebel whispered urgently, her eyes glancing around at the curtained beds surrounding them.

"Ye—" the albino devil started, but was cut off by Jezebel slamming a palm into his face.

"I think someone cast something on him, Ra! I found him wandering around here … wait!" Rasheid was cut off as he tried to interject. "He seemed confused, so I did the only thing I could and wrestled him down!

It's no ones fault except the vile person who befuddled him!"

Rasheid frowned, his eyes trained on his sister's jade-purple irises. She really seemed to believe what she was telling him, and he knew his sister didn't _lie_— least of all to _him_.

"Why …?" Rasheid faltered, his face flushing, eyes diverting to the floor.

He couldn't ask her why she was _nude— _it made a strange tingly sensation spread through him … made him want to flee the room. Instead he recited, "Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid ... for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee."

"Well are you going to help me, or _go_?" Jezebel whispered.

He didn't like how she emphasized the last word, like she didn't need his help, didn't want him here.

"Of course I will help you."

With smooth efficient steps he strode to her, trying to ignore her nudity, pressing one light hand to her shoulder. She stared at him a moment, and then with a huff moved away, allowing him to grasp the throat of the boy under her.

"_Up_," Rasheid demanded.

Draco, who'd remained silent ever since receiving a mouthful of Jezebel's palm, spluttered, "She's lying—"

Rasheid squeezed, a gush of air sounding as Draco's words died.

"Don't test me," Rasheid hissed.

"Ra, please— he's been _confunded_."

Draco rose as Rasheid tugged, his pale body shimmering in the dim light. Rasheid felt a new wave of sickness crush him as he noticed the absolute lack of clothing covering the boy.

"Did he—" he choked, unable to ask his sister the question burning his brain to ash.

"_No_!" Jezebel rose too, standing beside her brother and Draco, eyes wide and innocent.

"I'd kill you," Rasheid murmured to the boy, anger hardening each word. "I would kill you if you'd tainted her. I don't give two shits about who hexed you!"

With a snarl he threw the albino devil towards the doorway, pleased as Draco's body landed against the flagstones with a satisfying _crunch_.

"Ra, don't!" Jezebel yelped, her delicate hands gripping his arm, pulling. "You're scaring me!"

Shame jolted through him like an electric current of God's wrath, and his whirring emotions dulled, making him turn to her with pleading eyes.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you more than anything in this world. And I would, _will_, do whatever it takes to protect you."

His cheek burnt as her lips brushed it, a symbol of their truce. She wasn't angry with him; she knew he was only looking out for her. It made every wound inside him stitch, every doubt within him dissolve.

He didn't even notice as Draco picked himself off the floor to flee.

His sister loved him, and that was all that mattered.

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(AN: AWWW… see, told you not to worry! They love each other so much, and Ra will help Jez see what's right. Leave us good reviews!!)


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